


Soft and Trashy Heart

by bravinto



Category: Daredevil (TV), Jessica Jones (TV), Luke Cage (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alley Sex, Angst, Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Blind Date, Crying, Drabble Collection, Drinking, Fluff, Food Kink, Foot Fetish, Knitting, Multi, Sexual Content, Sharing a Bed, Sickfic, Sleepy Cuddles, Tickling, Vigilantism, and a tiniest bit of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-31 05:03:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 10,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6457012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravinto/pseuds/bravinto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a dump for my tumblr-prompted drabbles</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Matt/Foggy, things you said when you were drunk

**Author's Note:**

> pairing & prompt in the chapter titles  
> tags will be added whenever i update

Drunk Matt Murdock is  _ adorable _ .

This is not up for debate. This is just a fact of nature. Objective reality, if you will.

First, he gets all giggly, and his smile gets very, very bright. Foggy has good record getting Matt to smile as it is, but telling jokes to drunk Matt is simply cheating, because he is more than ready to laugh. Basically, Matt without his super-ego is a huge goof.

Second, he tends to share more. Usually tight-lipped and reserved, a drunk Matt is more prone to talking about his family, or even his feelings, and Foggy is not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He probably shouldn’t encourage Matt to drink, really, but he has a feeling this brings more good than evil, at least Matt gets his cuddles.

Because thirdly, a drunk Matt Murdock is clingy like you wouldn’t believe. He doesn’t merely hold onto Foggy’s arm, he virtually wraps around him as they walk back from their post-exam bar trip. 

“Whoa there, buddy!” Foggy says when Matt sways dangerously, nearly bringing them both to a fall. “You almost fell onto a trash bag.”

Matt laughs and suddenly pulls, and voila, here they are,  a giggling mess of limbs, wriggling on the trash bags. The trash is surprisingly soft. This is my heart, Foggy suddenly thinks, very soft and trashy for Matthew Murdock.

“Soft - yes, I agree, but trashy? Nope, not true, do not agree,” Matt says.

“Did I said that aloud?” Foggy asks; this must be a little embarrassing, except that it’s not, because a) it is true, and b) he is drunk and happy.

“Yup,” Matt grins. “The trash is soft, though.”

“Yeah, it really is.”

They rest for a while, contemplating the deep philosophical bases of trash and softness and the intricate ways in which the two are connected.

“Listen, how about this,” Matt says, “you’ll be the soft, and I’ll be the trash. We are perfect together.”

Foggy agrees that they are perfect together, he kinda wants to stay together forever, but something in this model is bothering him.

“How about neither of us is trash in this relationship? I can be the soft, and you’ll be something that rests on the soft, hm?”

“I like the sound of that. But where does this leave the trash?”

“Here in the trash bag, where it  _ belongs _ , Matt! Come on, let’s go home!”

They laugh as Matt struggles for balance and finally gets to his feet, then pulls Foggy back up and wraps an arm around his waist.

It’s cold, and the snow is falling, but Foggy is free and warm with love, liquor, and the hug. Their dorm awaits, and by now he is fairly certain the hugs won’t stop there, because once the drunk Matt Murdock plops on top of him, there won’t be any way to kick him out of Foggy’s bed, which can guarantee more giggling and a lot of cuddles (also a dragged-out war with the blankets). 

More than worth the hangover, if you ask Foggy.


	2. Matt/Foggy, things you said at 1 am

“Good evening and welcome to my humble lair!” Foggy said in loud whisper, trying for a talk show host impression, but falling short because, well. Gotta keep it down. “This is early for you.”

He just finished skimming through some files he’d taken home from the office and took a shower, when he heard a (familiar by now) knock on the window, and one Matthew Murdock in full Daredevil gear slipped into his kitchen. A short inspection revealed no visible injuries - those late night visits were both nice and unnerving, okay; Foggy had to check, - so Foggy concluded it must be a social call. However, instead of enjoying some recreational activities, the first thing Matt did upon taking off his mask was to crouch under the window sill and signal Foggy to turn off the lights and stay quiet.

“I had to cut it short tonight,” he explained. “Someone was following me.”

Before Foggy could open his mouth and ask who or why, Matt suddenly grabbed his hand and whispered, fervent and urgent:

“I didn’t lead them here! I swear, Foggy, I didn’t… I took a shortcut a couple blocks away and lost them, they couldn’t know where I went. I just needed to hide somewhere in case they are still out there!..”

“Hey, it’s alright,” Foggy rubbed his thumb over Matt’s fingers soothingly until they relaxed. “Who was it?”

“I don’t know. There was a mugging. Several blocks away, near that bar with Finnish beer. I heard it and got there in time to stop it, but I must have missed something, someone, because when I left, someone was following me”.

“Could it be the mugger?”

“Not with a broken ankle”, Matt chuckled darkly. “There must have been someone else, watching. Very slim, agile. Very fast on the upper level, faster than me, even. Luckily, I took a shortcut that they missed.”

“Probably not from Hell’s Kitchen, then.”

“Maybe. If they pass nearby, I might observe something else about them.”

Foggy grabbed a bottle of beer from the fridge and sat on the floor under the window next to Matt. 

“Why are we whispering?” he asked.

The whole ‘hiding in the dark thing’ was making him uneasy.

“I think they might have… abilities,” Matt said, uncomfortable. “I’m not sure  what kind, though, so it’s better to keep quiet.”

“Not another parkour master with superpowers,” Foggy sighed.

This time it was Matt running his thumb over Foggy’s hand.

“Don’t worry, they won’t find us here.”

After several minutes of talking back and forth, Matt suddenly got tense beside him, like a tight spring. Or a tiger, ready to pounce. (Foggy spent a lot of time thinking about this, okay.)

“They’re here,” Matt said, a barely audible whisper. 

Foggy was pretty sure that it was pointless to speak so softly when his heart was pounding like that. Must be like thunder in Matt’s ears.

“Where? How do you know?”

“The building across the alley. I remember the heartbeat, it’s… different. Young, I think.”

“How young?”

“I don’t know. Younger than us?.. They’re are walking on the roof.”

“I’m gonna peek,” Foggy said, suddenly.

“Foggy…”

“Shhh, I’m gonna peek. You have a pair of perfectly functional eyeballs at your service right now, there won’t be a better opportunity.”

“Okay, but be careful - !”

“Sure”.

Foggy rose from the floor, slowly, until his eyes were above the window sill. He figured, this way only the top of his head would be visible, and if anyone actually  _ could  _ see it, it would look like some weird random mop, right? Maybe a fuzzy cat? He peered around, carefully, trying keep up the fuzzy cat impersonation, and then he saw it. There was indeed a small figure, moving along the edge of the roof across the alley.

“Yep, someone is there,” he narrated. “Yeah, looks slim… I think they are wearing some sort of tights, not unlike yours. Looks like a masculine figure, but it can be tricky. Thou shalt not gender vigilantes.”

Matt giggled at that, despite the heavy air of suspense.

“Anything else?” he asked.

“I can’t quite tell, but the outfit seems dichromatic. Can’t see the colors, but I could draw the pattern, maybe.”

Several seconds later the mysterious figure was gone, but it was a full quarter of an hour before Matt agreed to leave his post and finally enjoy the recreational activities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the young stalker is Spiderman, trying to track down Daredevil :D


	3. Matt&Foggy, things you said that i wish you hadn't + things you said when you were scared

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this one before the S2 aired, and it takes place bteween the first and second seasons

Someone is knocking on the office door. it’s just Amy from Atlas, they ran out of sugar, but here, the staff of Nelson and Murdock won’t know this until Karen walks several feet across the room and answers. For now, it could be anything: mail, neighbors, even a client. But Foggy’s heart goes into an overdrive at once, sharp panic radiating from his office. It dies down quickly, but it is not the first time it happens. Third this week, actually. 

So while Karen invites Amy in and they chat over coffee (neither has much work to do today), Matt walks into Foggy’s office.

“What,” Foggy says wearily, raising his head from where he leaned on the desk.

“Something is wrong,” Matt says quietly, approaching him. “With you.”

“No shit,” Foggy laughs, and Matt hates how bitter and tired it sounds.

“Foggy, I heard…”

“Sure you did.”

“…that you were in distress, and it happened before… What is it?”

Foggy sighs and looks away. Matt pulls up a chair and leans across the table towards him.

“What is it, Foggy? Tell me, please.”

“You wanna know?” Foggy says softly, but with a dangerous hysterical note. “I’ll tell you.”

Things are getting better between them, they  _ are _ , but right now it looks like they are about to have another hissing argument, because when they start arguing full volume, Karen grows more and more distressed, and that is, at least, something that neither of them wants.

“The thing is, Matt,” Foggy begins, his breath quivering, “that any time I hear someone knock, or footsteps outside the office or my apartment, I can’t help thinking it’s the police. Or someone clever figured it out and is coming to blackmail us. Or even one of your enemies traced you all the way here.

“I used to feel safe in Hell’s Kitchen… not that I couldn’t get robbed or anything, just… I had nothing to hide. And now I do. And wherever I go, it just seems that  _ everybody knows _ , Matt.”

Guilt kicks deep in Matt’s gut, and he isn’t sure any amount of praying or punching people in the face can help it, after what he did to his best friend.

“I’m sorry, Foggy,” he whispers. “You should’ve never had to bear a burden like this. I… if you don’t want to…”

“Stop it!” Foggy says, and it sounds more like a sob. “If you are trying to do this ‘push all your friends away’ thing again, just stop. I tried to leave, remember. And I couldn’t. I don’t have this luxury, Matt, I built my whole life around you.”

And this is the worst of all, really, because it is true, Matt let him built his life around someone who wasn’t even what Foggy thought he was. So they sit for long minutes, stiff across the table; Foggy is crying and trying desperately to keep it quiet, and Matt simply frozen and clueless about what to do to make it better in any way.

A room away Amy and Karen are discussing the series they are both watching. Employees in the office upstairs are having a debate over a spider: one wants to kill it, the other suggests escorting it out of the room, but neither wants to touch it. Someone in the building is eating cheap ramen. 

Eventually the sobs ease off, and Foggy takes a deep breath.

“Okay, this was too harsh. I don’t want to leave, either. I just… I dunno, I want to be able to feel better about this all?”

“Can I do anything to help?”

“Eh… I don’t know, Matt. Well, actually, talking about it did help, a little, so I suppose, more of that could be good.”

“Of course,” Matt is planning to make sure he found time to talk to Foggy more in private.

Talking about feelings isn’t his forte, but if it helps, he needs to try.

“Also,” he says, “if it helps at all, I keep track of the rumors. It’s unlikely that anyone could have figured out my identity. We are safe and… if anyone is coming for you or Karen, I will know. I will know and I will protect you, I swear.”


	4. Matt/Elektra, “Are your nails painted?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is where the bit with foot fetish is

It’s quiet in that rare, specific way it only gets after an intense work-out. Or intense sex. A bit of both, maybe.  The mansion Elektra took him to is far away from the noise of the city; it’s large and modern, and it feels really good not to care whose it really is. Tonight it’s theirs, and it’s quiet.

Elektra stirs by his side.

“Are your nails painted?” she says, voice warm and curious.

It burns, hot and pleasant, to be able to surprise her.

“Yeah,” Matt answers and wiggles his toes.

He refused to let Foggy paint the nails on his hands, but his toes, he decided, why not. It seems to have paid off. He’ll buy Foggy that vanilla cake he likes as thanks. Or maybe new hair bands. The first chance he gets.

“Didn’t peg you for a nail salon frequenter,” Elektra says, playing with his toes.

“I’m not. My roommate did them for me.”

“How sweet of him. He has a good eye, too. Red becomes you.”

“I like red,” Matt says and doesn’t resist the urge to squirm as she rubs his feet.

“So do I,” Elektra breathes, -  thrilling, dangerous, insatiable, - and sucks on his toe. - “It’s quite delicious.”

It’s not quiet anymore, but that is fine with Matt.


	5. Matt/Foggy, things you said when you thought i was asleep

Sharing the bed with Foggy was something that Matt just sort of accepted without questioning. He had doubts that it was standard roommate behavior, but what did he know about standard behaviors?.. Students on campus were doing all sorts of things all the time, and it gave him no useful clues, but Foggy seemed content to be in charge of roommate code, and Matt trusted his expertise. Besides, Foggy was soft and warm, and focusing on his heartbeat to sleep was even easier up close. Sleeping in one of those narrow beds together was nearly impossible without holding each other very close, and Foggy had zero qualms about it, either.

“School is hard, one needs as much comfort as one can get,” Foggy said often, and Matt knew that if he started to analyse it, he’d end up denying it to himself (words like “taking advantage” and “soft things” were coming to mind), and he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

It didn’t start at once, too; it was more of a slow progress from drunkenly flopping onto whatever welcoming surface was the closest, to trying and failing to watch movies together in any other fashion, to that one time Foggy eventually said:

“You know what, we’re gonna fall asleep anyway, I just know it. Let’s do it like civilized people!” and narrated holding the blanket up for Matt.

When they weren’t watching movies or trying to do homework together, Foggy would tell long-winded stories, involving his various relatives. This whole thing turned into a full-body experience: bundled safely in Foggy’s arms and warm blankets, breathing in his familiar scent, listening to his heart and his soft murmur, just perceiving him  _ exist _ , it was easy to block out the rest of the world, the sirens, the fire, the whole lot. 

Sometimes, when he thought Matt was already asleep, Foggy would say things like “How can a human being be so cute, Murdock? This is illegal, I am a lawyer, I should know.” Or “You know that I love you, right? I hope you do, buddy.” Not that he never said it during the day; but here, so close, it was bearing more meaning, deeper, warmer, like it came right from Foggy’s guts. It woke something fierce in Matt’s soul, and he thought that maybe, maybe, one day… 

He burrowed deeper and tried his best to take as much as Foggy was able to give him, to remember, to keep it safe in his heart forever.


	6. Foggy/Luke, "You’re like a giant cinnamon roll.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wildcard ship!!!

In retrospect, it was only a matter of time before trouble found him. It always did, somehow. Still, Luke thought, he was justified in feeling irritated and  _ angered  _ that the bastards decided to jump him here, in front of his boyfriend, scaring and endangering the said boyfriend.

“Get behind me!” he said, and Foggy complied immediately.

And so the brawl began. Luke threw punches left and right, trying mostly to keep the attackers from getting to Foggy, and also hoping against hope that in the darkness of the alleyway and the heat of the fight Foggy might miss the knives and brass knuckles breaking against Luke’s skin without leaving a mark. 

It turned out that there were more goons than he could keep track of when he was methodically sending them unconscious: the last one somehow managed to sneak past him. Luke didn’t really have time to panic - when he turned, the last opponent was already on the ground, hit by a heavy-looking book that Foggy seemed to have taken out of his satchel.

“Done and done,” Foggy panted, visibly shaken, but by no means hysterical.

“Okay, let’s get out of here.”

They hurried their way to Foggy’s apartment several blocks away, and Luke worried more about not getting his boyfriend involved in any of the dangerous stuff life was throwing his way than answering awkward questions at the moment. Maybe Foggy hadn’t noticed?

No such luck; as soon as they entered, Foggy closed the door, backed Luke against the wall and said:

“Okay, mister. Tell me in no uncertain terms, do you or do you not possess superpowers?”

Luke sighed. Better out with it now, it’s not like he was hiding, anyway. 

“I do.”

“Okay… of course,” Foggy echoed his sigh in the dark of the corridor.

“Is it a deal breaker?” Luke asked, not trying to hide the wistful note in his voice: he liked what they had with Foggy, the easy companionship and entertaining conversations, the sweet comfort he felt they both needed. Just all of it, it was a good thing.

“No, it isn’t, Luke. Lying would be a deal breaker,” Foggy answered, and his smile was sad.

There was no arguing that.

“I understand and I agree,” Luke said. “Are you okay with it, though? Have you seen it, I have unbreakable skin. Does it not frighten you?..”

“Pffft,” Foggy rolled his eyes and laughed, and suddenly the gloomy mood lifted. “I’ve lived in this damn city my whole life, and I’ve seen some shit, okay? No, you don’t frighten me, Mr. Big and Scary. Besides, you’re like a giant cinnamon roll.”

“I am what now?”

Foggy stepped back into his space, pressing close, yanked at Luke’s collar to get him to lean down into a soft kiss. Luke wrapped his arms gratefully around Foggy. This conversation went so much better than he thought.

“Cinnamon roll. Big. Yummy,” Foggy said between the kisses.

“No biting,” Luke warned him, relief and joy warm in his chest.

“Yeah no, I don’t wanna break my teeth,” Foggy said. “How about you bite me, though?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am sorta annoyed that we don't know where Luke has gone off to at the end of JJ, because it would have helped me to build this ship's story better.


	7. Matt/Foggy/Karen, "I just want this."

_ What do you want?  _ \- they all ask each other and try their best to answer it, because they want this new thing to work; and if they have learned anything from the painful past experiences, honesty is essential. Still, it is not something you can easily put in a couple of words, even if you are a lawyer. Or a journalist.

-

The chase takes him close to Foggy’s apartment, and just for a minute he can hear them together, inside. Foggy and Karen are engaged in that slow, chill brand of sex that they seem to prefer between the two of them, that is half brainstorming, half massage. 

“So, if we call them out on it now, it will probably do more harm than good?” Karen asks, sliding slowly in Foggy’s lap and digging her hands in his back to rub away his joint ache.

“Most probably. We need to find the evidence of some sort of connection, first,” Foggy says, and then there’s the sound of kissing.

Connection. Matt grins. This is something he can try to bring to light tonight, if he hurries. It’s tempting to stop and linger here a minute longer, but he knows that Foggy’s bed is wide, and the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen has a standing invitation. They are safe and comfortable, and he will keep it this way. So he runs.

Later that night, when he climbs through the window sucking on a split lip, he peels off the devilskin and crawls into the welcoming warmth of the soft sheets and pillows and slumbering bodies. Foggy’s snoring stays steady, but Karen rises a little and makes a sleepy noise.

“Shh, it’s just me,” he whispers, settling beside them.

“What?..” she says, hoarse.

“I just want this,” he says.

He hopes they understand.

-

Karen could maybe, once, some time admit that this is her favourite moment: whenever the three of them leave the battlefield of the week, be it a courtroom, a police precinct, a crime scene, or some rich jerk’s office; when there is a faint breath of awe all around them, as they walk. The three of them - the most badass lawyer in all of Hell’s Kitchen, the sharp man who - rumour has it - may or may not be the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, and her - the truth seeker with fire in her heart and love under her skin.

They will be going some place fun later tonight, unwind and goof around. Matt will show off some of his extraordinary skill just for them to applaud, Foggy will pull them into a big hug, and Karen will dance with them both. They will be happy and merry tonight; but this, this sharp moment of risking everything for the sake of truth, coming out on top despite whatever obstacle life throws at you, is her favourite. 

She found people to love and she will keep her hard-won family to share everything with them.

“So, celebration dinner?” Foggy asks, when they get outside.

“Definitely,” Matt agrees. “What do you feel like today, Karen?”

“I will let you guys decide,” she says.

“Don’t you want some guilty pleasure satisfied after all that badassery we pulled?”

“Nah,” she says. “I just want this.”

Them, doing the right thing. Together. Victorious.

-

The night they come back, Josie almost throws them a party. This is, Foggy thinks, the closest they’ve come to  _ actually  _ drinking here for free. She’s happy to see them, it’s clear; her surly facade cracks a little when they come up to the bar and order drinks for three.

It comes as a surprise, but it doesn’t hurt being here anymore. The painful memories will stay forever, but they are fading like old scars; not a wound anymore, just experience and a reminder to try and do better. For his part, Foggy is trying to give his heroes the nest to come home to and love to fill in the cracks between the sharp edges. It is working, so far, and this is all Foggy asks from the universe. Well, this and maybe some blueberry donuts later tonight would be good, too.

“What are you thinking, Fog?” Matt asks, leaning onto him a little.

“I’m thinking that we should dance! Josie, my star, put on something we can dance to?”

Later, after some outstanding moves, several rounds of applause, dancing three-way to a slow song, an impromptu makeout session in men’s room, and eel (the taste of eel makes his heart ache a little, but only until Karen takes his hands and kisses his cheeks), they stumble outside and head home.

Karen’s face is red and happy, Matt grins like he did when he was nineteen; they both cling to Foggy, and he pulls them closer as the pavement sways under their feet.

“You know what, fellas?” he asks. “The answer is  _ this _ . I just want this.”


	8. Matt/Foggy, "Come home with me"

The wind outside is damp and smelly, but it’s slightly more breathable than the stale alcohol fumes inside the bar. They stumble out of the door to gulp the somewhat fresher air and giggle. Matt presses his forehead to the cool scratchy bricks of the wall and suddenly feels at ease. It’s been ages since he felt this easy with Foggy last time, just tipsy and bubbly and light.

It’s almost like the old times, when Matt would come to get Foggy back to the dorm from a party that’d gone on for too long, when they were young and free.

Foggy must be feeling this too, because he leans on the wall with a content sigh and says:

“’s good tonight, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, buddy,” Matt answers, the word slipping off his tongue like it belongs there again.

“Buddy,” Foggy echoes, and his voice is smiling, soft, warm. Calm.

They just stand near each other, and Foggy seems closer to him, closer than ever, maybe, even before _everything_. With no secrets left and no promises to break. Foggy moves closer still and takes Matt’s hand, as if he means it, as if he forgives, as if he understands and accepts.

“Don’t push me away,” he says very quietly.

Matt doesn’t want to push him away.

“Come home with me?” he says instead.


	9. Claire/Foggy, having their hair washed by the other

“Long shift?” Foggy asks, when Claire leans against him on the way to the shower, exhaustion of the day catching up with her, deep heavy tiredness in her bones. 

“Yeah,” she says into his shoulder, still wrapped in that light pink office shirt that looks so good on him. “Looks like you’ve also been working late.”

“A little bit, yes, but in my line of business, it’s half sitting on my butt, half working my tongue. By the way,” he says as his arms wrap around her in a gentle, cozy hold she never wants to leave, “I heard that the tongue muscle never gets tired. Is it true, or is it just me?..”

“Well, your tongue surely is extraordinary,” Claire pinches his side, and Foggy giggles.

“Want me to start a bath for you?”

It does sound tempting, but she wants to spend as much time asleep as possible, so Foggy walks them backwards into his bathroom where he carefully undresses her, then sheds his own clothes. 

They get into the shower, and he lets the water warm up before directing the shower head at Claire. She sinks into Foggy again, the soft, comforting support of his body; he massages shampoo into her hair, and his hands are gentle and warm. This, right, here, is why she loves it. Caring is in Foggy’s nature, something he does without extra thought or effort, as easily as he breathes; and he’s happy when people let him do it. Claire is old enough to know a good thing when she sees it; to know that the best relationship is something very simple. Maybe they lack passion or spark, but sparks tend to burn you, and anyway, Claire would trade all the sparks in the world for someone who will be kind to her at the end of the day.

“Better?” Foggy asks after rinsing her hair.

It is better.

“My hero,” she says, poking him softly in the belly and smiling into the kiss that follows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> btw does anybody know the true answer to Foggy's question? the internet was not very conclusive


	10. Matt/Foggy, one falling asleep with their head in the other's lap.

“You won’t leave?” Foggy asks, his voice coming muffled from where he’s curled up under the wool blanket.

“No, I’m staying,” Matt says as he returns with a new cup of coffee.

He’d rather be out there, fighting; but Foggy needs him here, and he wouldn’t trust anyone to keep him safe. It’s best to stay put.

“Promise?..”

There’s something jagged in Foggy’s voice, like a dull, rusty blade. It hurts, in Matt’s ribs, in his feet, everywhere, one, two, three times. 

“Yes,” he says, suddenly hoarse, “promise.”

He leaves his cup on the window sill, a hot stain against the cold even surfaces, and climbs onto the bed to sit at the headboard. He pulls Foggy into his lap and feels him settle and snuggle closer.

“I swear to god, Murdock, if I wake up and you’re gone, I will do something that you will regret,” Foggy mumbles at his waist. 

“Like what?” Matts says, running his fingers through Foggy’s soft locks. “Does the threat to dye my hair unholy colors still stand?”

“If I tell you, what’s the fun in that? Nah, you won’t know what hit you.”

It’s never quiet, not really; but here, in this room, it is probably as quiet as it’s ever going to get for Matt: the calm rhythm of Foggy’s heartbeat, the quiet flow of life through his veins. His breathing, slowing down, evening out. The low rumble in his bowels. The tired and sweaty smell of the sheets and the warm weight of his body, growing heavier as he’s falling asleep in Matt’s lap.

“The mighty Daredevil is gonna guard my sleep tonight, huh?” Foggy says, not bothering to raise his voice above a soft murmur, knowing that Matt can hear him just fine.

“Yes, buddy, he is.”

Matt stays and keeps his vigil.


	11. Matt/Foggy, sharing a dessert

Foggy experiences a burst of conflicted feelings when he returns from the break and sees a piece of cake sitting on top of his desk. On the one hand, it’s a generous slice, fresh and delicious, by the smell of it; covered with white frosting he likes best. It looks expensive and possibly organic, and very, very tempting. On the other hand, it bears all signs of Matt Murdock’s Guilty Offering ™ and, given the nature of Matt’s side job, Foggy feels uneasy, to say the least.

“Matthew?” he asks, approaching the cake cautiously and sitting down to stare at it.

“Yes, Franklin?” Matt calls back with the oh-so-fake nonchalance.

“Come here a moment?”

When Matt saunters in, Foggy points an accusatory finger at the cake and demands:

“What is this?”

“It’s… a cake?..”

“What is the meaning of this?”

“Why, I thought you like cake!” Matt says, taking off his glasses and sitting on the corner of Foggy’s table.

His ease starts to look less fake and more genuine, so maybe it’s not as bad as Foggy thinks it is.

“Matt, did you do something? I am narrowing my eyes at you in a suspicious fashion.”

“Why are you getting so worked up over it? It’s just a piece of cake, Foggy. No, I didn’t do anything,” Matt answers, but his grin is mischievous, and Foggy knows he’s onto something.

“Are you  _ planning  _ to do something?”

“Alright, I might be.”

“Mind telling me what it is? Because at this point I’m positive it involves me and this cake in some way.”

“Maybe I could show you.”

“Go ahead.”

With that Matt gets off the desk, walks around it and straddles Foggy’s lap, like that’s a perfectly normal thing to do in the office. He reaches back and holds the plate with the cake and spoon between them (Foggy wraps his arms around Matt’s back to keep him steady and prevent the edge of the desk from digging into Matt’s back).

“I thought, we could share it,” Matt murmurs, bringing a spoonful to Foggy’s lips.

The cake is heavenly. It’s both rich and light and very fresh. The frosting is just as minty as Foggy was hoping it would be. It tastes so good he’s not even embarrassed about the ecstatic moans he makes while eating it. Besides, if the situation starts looking like an intro scene to a porn movie, you might as well act your part, right?

Matt just sits there, tantalizingly close, and smiles. He waits for Foggy to be finished with his mouthful, drinking in the effect it is having on Foggy, like the kinky bastard he is.

“So?” he asks. “Is it any good?”

“Ambrosial, Matty! One of the finest cake specimens I have ever encountered. Come on, try it”.

“Nah. You eat.”

“What about sharing it, then?..”

Matt ducks his head a little, and a warm flush blooming on his cheeks spreads all over his face.

“I was thinking, maybe something a little different.”

He leans in and kisses Foggy. It starts out slow and soft, but grows progressively more indecent as Matt is licking into Foggy’s mouth, savoring the sweet aftertaste that lingers, sucking the last of the cream off Foggy’s lips. There is something very arousing in the idea of Matt zealously tasting food from kissing him, so, welp. Kinky bastards, plural. 

This time they both make noises, then break apart panting.

“More?” Matt asks, wiggling in Foggy’s lap.

“More!”

It takes a while to finish off the cake.


	12. Marci/Foggy, sex on a countertop/tabletop/sink because we couldn’t wait to get somewhere with cushions

“Marciiiiiii”, Foggy whined from where he was sitting on top of a kitchen table.

“What, Foggy-bear?” she asked, faux innocence ringing cheerful in her voice as she undid the buttons on his shirt and moved lower.

“Someone’s gonna walk in, Marci,” Foggy said. “What if someone walks in?”

He was hoping nobody would, but their absence would not go unnoticed indefinitely. He could hear talking and laughter from the living room, where quite a risky game of truth or dare was still in full swing. Eventually someone was bound to notice that he and Marci didn’t return after promising to go fetch more cocktails and sandwiches from the kitchen.

“Then they’ll catch an eyeful,” she answered. “Lucky them!”

Marci’s skilled, cool hands worked open his pants as she looked up at him, the mischievous unapologetic smile she often wore around him, that Foggy liked. The way Marci handled him was always hungry but never not gentle, and he liked how it made him feel: beautiful and wanted. It was nice, playing like this, just the right side of tipsy, in some stranger’s apartment, Marci’s fingers slipping in to touch him in sensitive, intimate places.

“Don’t I deserve some place nice, like a soft bed with comfy pillows to debauch me on?” he complained, pushing a little closer into her touch.

“Aw, sure, Foggy-bear,” she breathed, kissing down his chest and belly in a way that made him feel all tingly. “But I just can’t keep my hands off you…”


	13. Matt/Foggy, touching anywhere but where the person desperately wants to be touched

“Foggy,” Matt whimpers, writhing underneath him.

It sounds deliciously desperate.

“Yes, Matty,” Foggy whispers and leans down to kiss Matt’s ridiculously red, obscene lips. “What is it, buddy?”

“Touch me…” comes the breathy response.

“I  _ am  _ touching you, you goof,” Foggy says, rubbing light circles on Matt’s wrists where he has them pinned down to the bed.

He feels Matt’s arms flex and relax, like he’s forcing himself to stay down, pliant and mellow for Foggy, as if he couldn’t throw him off like a ragdoll any moment. 

“Touch me there.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere,” Matt pants and arches his back to find any other connection point besides his hands and lips. It’s an impressive arch, and Foggy really has to concentrate not to give in.

“Say the magical word,” he says, peppering Matt’s flushed face with small kisses.

“Accio Foggy?” Matt tries, and Foggy kinda loses it, a little, because really?

“Okay, I was gonna be stern, but I can’t deal with you when you’re being a nerd, Murdock. I call foul play!” Foggy laughs and lowers himself to lie down on top of him.

He can’t really withhold anything from Matt, not when he’s being so sweet and eager and dorky and desperate for the questionable pleasure of rubbing his whole body on Foggy. If Matt’s triumphant laugh sounds so happy, this isn’t a battle Foggy would want to win anyway.


	14. Matt/Foggy, anything involving the secretive brushing of fingertips against inner thighs in public spaces

“Matthew,” he hears Foggy mouth at him menacingly, flustered and blushing.

Matt just smirks a little and continues to drag his fingers up Foggy’s thigh, to where he can feel heat building up.

“Franklin?” he says back.

“This is my nana’s anniversary!”

“Yeah, so what?”

“God, I’m going to die,” Foggy laments instead of an answer.

He doesn’t push Matt’s hand away, though. He doesn’t get up and leave, either. He doesn’t even tell him to stop, so Matt gropes a little at Foggy’s inner thigh, where it is teasingly soft and nice to touch, then runs his finger along the seam of the pant leg.

“Isn’t it why you wanted me to come with you? You said you’d be bored to death, I’m just trying to entertain you,” Matt argues.

“This is torture, not entertainment,” Foggy whines, too loud, - someone notices them and approaches.

“What are you two still doing at the table?” someone asks. “It’s Foggy’s aunt Sarah, Matt. Everybody’s moved outside, come on?”

“I think we’ll stay here a bit,” Foggy says and then adds, just to mess with Matt, apparently, “Matt says he’s a little tired of the noise.”

“Oh, yes,” Matt says and squeezes Foggy’s thigh, making him jump just a little. “I admit, I prefer listening to Foggy. He described everyone in great detail!”

There follows a long pause, during which aunt Sarah is probably giving them a weird look.

“Alright,” she says cautiously. “I’ll leave you to that… Come join us any time, if you want.”

Her footsteps retreat, and Foggy breathes out a string of profanities.

“That was a close call,” he pants.

“We could make it closer,” Matt says, leaning on him a little; they have a couple more hours to kill, and he can think of more ways to get Foggy’s blood pumping.


	15. Matt/Brett, kissing&biting to stay quiet

Another night, another alleyway, and what has Brett’s life become, really?..

“You have a nice suit, detective,” Daredevil,  _ Matt  _ breathes, running his hands hungrily over Brett’s back and breathing in whatever he can smell on Brett’s neck.

“Comes with the raise,” Brett answers and goes to squeeze Matt’s ass.

There is slightly less of it than usual. It’s hard to see in the dark (and he hasn’t seen Matt during daylight in a while), but he seems thinner, feels thinner in his arms. His cheeks look gaunt and scruffier than before. His day life must have unsurprisingly gone downhill since Nelson&Murdock fell apart.

“Yours has grown too big for you,” Brett says.

Matt predictably goes stiff against him.

“Look, I don’t mean to mother you or anything,” Brett sighs. “Just take care of yourself, okay?”

Matt tilts his head, then whispers:

“Shhh, someone is coming.”

“Yeah sure, alright, I won’t badger you, drop the act.”

Instead of an answer Matt hisses, like an irritated cat, then kisses Brett, bites his lips and swallows the surprised noise Brett makes and oh. There are two policemen, Johnson and Heine, turning the corner and shining their flashlights into the alley. Matt presses him into the wall, blending them both in the darkness, and they stop breathing, waiting, until Heine shouts:

“Clear!”, and both officers walk away.

Matt’s lips never leave Brett’s, though; he’s kissing with a frantic single-mindedness as he rubs against Brett. There is a desperate, almost feral intensity in his movements, so Brett gives him what he seems to need - the contact and the heat, a short moment of uncomplicated unity with another human being. It’s quick and tight, and they both get off too soon. Matt lingers, hesitant, for a moment.

“I have to go,” he says, then backs away, jumps up and disappears.

Matt can still hear him, probably, so Brett straightens his suit and says into the night:

“Hey, if food’s a problem, you can go visit my mom, she’ll feed you any time. Just keep it in mind, okay?”


	16. Marci & Foggy, Foggy Nelson's First Blind Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this for "the fic you won't write" game on Tumblr, to the prompt: "Matt/Foggy 'Foggy Nelson's First Blind Date'. This got a little out of hand, and there's no Matt/Foggy in this bit. Moreover, the blind date in question isn't even with him! (spoiler alert: it's a villain!)

Contrary to popular belief and despite his reputation of a hopeless flirt, Foggy Nelson wasn’t that much of a blind date person or any sort of similarly edgy date-person. See, this kind of things relied heavily on first impression, and Foggy was more of a slow build kinda guy (he hadn’t left a good first impression in his _life_ ). So he was equally surprised and dismayed to learn that Marci has set him up for a blind date.

“Because you are being pathetic, and I can’t stand hearing your forlorn sighs another day,” Marci explained cheerfully, leaning over Foggy’s desk and playing with his hair. “Or I will risk getting pathetic by association. Get a life!”

“So, you found somebody for me to go on a _blind date_ with? Isn’t it a bit too radical for someone who doesn’t want to get pathetic by association?”

“Oh please. Just get yourself a fuck buddy to bang the Murdock blues out of you.”

“Wasn’t that your job?”

“And I might consider picking it up again when you are back to being fun.”

“Aren’t you the epitome of kindness and mercy,” Foggy mumbled with a sigh.

“If not me, then who?” Marci smiled a toothpaste-commercial smile and waved her hair. 

She had a point, though. The new job was engaging and rewarding, at least materially, but the nights were still achingly lonely, and the gaping void in Foggy’s heart where everything Nelson&Murdock used to be was still there, and it couldn’t be filled by getting drunk with Marci or brainstorming with Karen (sometimes simultaneously).

“Listen,” Marci leaned closer and actually _lowered her voice_ , “you need  someone who cares. Who can hold your hand. You know I can’t do that, Foggy.”

“She has a heart!” Foggy gasped, clutching his chest.

Marci side-eyed him.

“Don’t you dare tell anyone. It’s bad for work. Frankly, I don’t know how you are still a lawyer.”

“Don’t worry, Marce, your dirty little secret is safe with me.”

She got off his desk.

“Anyway, I gotta go. Tomorrow at seven, remember? I’ll text you the details.”

“Wait, at least tell me if it’s a man or a woman or a gender nonconforming someone? How will I even know it’s them?”

“Blind date, Foggy-bear! I’ll get you to wear a silly hat or something. Tschüss!”

With that she sailed out of his office, leaving the door to slowly click closed after her. Damn my pansexual ass, Foggy thought, running his hand through his hair. Or bless. Yeah, probably bless.


	17. Matt/Foggy, crunching leaves & first frost

“Rumor has it, Grease is gonna cancel the class today,” Foggy says as they lock the door and start out arm in arm to their first morning lecture.

Indeed, all throughout the dorm Matt can hear the whispers that, according to his Facebook page, professor Willow, also known as ‘Grease’ for his rockabilly aesthetics, might have fallen ill. The season of colds and flues begins, the air outside is cold and crisp, surprisingly fresh in the city. They walk across the campus territory under the thinning foliage, and their breaths come out as warm, softly glowing clouds. Foggy huffs and tucks Matt’s gloveless hand closer, in the cozy crook of his arm.

“You don’t have late classes today, do you?” Foggy asks.

“Nah,” Matt says. “You got plans?”

“Dunno, maybe. It’s really nice today, let’s go the the park and kick some leaves around?”

Foggy’s voice is smiling, and his cheeks must be turning red, pinched by the frost, but his whole body is radiating warmth, and Matt wants to stick his other hand, freezing on the handle of the cane, under his sweater. It’s gonna get warmer by noon, when the sun will have heated up the frosted earth, a little.

“Great, let’s do it,” he answers. “Seasonal drinks for full autumn experience?”

“Absolutely. I will also make you a crown out of maple leaves.”

“You know how to do that?” Matt asks, unable to hold back a huge grin.

“Dude, I have three sisters, I know everything about crowns. Flowers, leaves, fairy lights, you name it.”

Matt laughs and leans against his shoulder. It is going to be a beautiful day.


	18. Claire/Luke/Misty, cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the OT3 of the future, you guys

“Why is it me who has to do this, again?” Luke asks when he returns from the biting cold of the November night.

It’s damp and freezing outside, the kind of cold that crawls under your clothes, seeps into your bones, makes you shiver all over. The hoodie isn’t enough in this dank weather, and he needs something more substantial, but buying new clothes is a bit of a pet peeve by now. Should he even invest into any piece of clothing above the very basic level? Maybe still yes, Luke thinks, as he jogs back from the bodega, a chocolate cake, a pack of pads and a bottle of sweet liquor under his arm, his teeth chattering with the cold.

“Because I’m on my period,” Misty groans from under a pile of blankets.

“I am tired and busy being supportive, so it’s up to you, Power-man,” Claire tells him, a shadow of a smile on her beautiful, open face.

Luke throws off his freezing clothes and climbs back into the warm bed with them, between their slim, warm bodies. Misty emerges from her nest, eats some cake and takes a sip of liquor; hisses at the coldness of his hands where he touches her, but soon sighs in relief when the alcohol works to sooth her pain, and leans into Luke’s embrace. 

“Don’t you have any painkillers?” Luke asks Claire, who takes a swig from the bottle before passing it to him.

“I do, but sometimes a little booze is honestly better for you than pills,” she says, and adds with a little smile, running a warm hand down his shoulder, “So, you do get cold? I though you were invincible.”

“Not all the way through,” he smiles back, wraps his arms around them both and holds them close under the warm layers of blankets.


	19. Matt/Foggy, warm sweaters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an AU where they make extra cash by making sweaters

“I think we make a pretty good team, buddy,” Foggy said, leading Matt up the aisle in their favorite craft store. “Your skill and my eyes, it’s the ultimate combo. Okay, feel this one?”

He guided Matt’s hand to the right, towards the muffling, soft wall of skeins of yarn. Matt gave the skein in question a thorough grope. He ran his thumb over the yarn to feel the texture - it was warm and soft, but there was something missing, maybe not enough bite to it. He buried his fingers deep into the woolly ball to test how it was gonna feel as a solid volume. It wasn’t bad, but it could be better.

“Let’s look some more,” he suggested.

Foggy sighed, just this side of fond exasperation.

“We’ve been at this for, like, two hours, I’m hungry,” he complained. His stomach growled in agreement, but Matt knew it wasn’t too bad yet.

“Just a little longer,” he promised and walked on further.

The next skein Foggy offered was perfect - it was equally soft and texturized, without any lumps, just really nice to touch. Still, Matt felt a little cautious about it, because Foggy’s voice got a breathy, playful note, like he was toying with Matt somehow.

“Sometimes I feel that you pick awful, clashing colors on purpose, _Franklin_ ,” he said as they were paying at the check-out.

“Why would I do that, _Matthew_?” Foggy scoffed. “I’m the one who actually has to look at the sweaters you knit.”

“I don’t know, but our customers always breathe funny when they get their orders.”

It wasn’t like many people dared to openly mention the bold color choices to a blind guy.

“That’s because your sweaters are so cute and lovely and warm!” Foggy said, and laughter broke through his voice; and his heart somehow sang both “lie” and “truth”; and “joke”, and “i love you”, and Matt laughed too, because it was a perfect crime, and he loved Foggy, too.


	20. Foggy/Luke, flannel shirt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my fave rarepair strikes again <3

“I don’t think I have anything your size,” Foggy says ruefully, sincerely sad.

It might be the first time ever when he cannot lend a piece of clothing to someone because it’s too _small_ for them. The downside of being able to wear his boyfriend’s T-shirts, for once, he sighs. Luke’s shirt looks like he’s been mauled by a rabid bear, hanging in stripes around his torso. “They tried throwing knives at me,” Luke explained earlier, and it was Foggy’s cue to laugh, but it got sour in his throat, because what kind of person throws knives at another?.. After that Luke held him close for a while, before they began digging through Foggy’s wardrobe for a substitute. It seems pretty desperate so far; but then Foggy catches a glimpse of something that gives him hope.

“Hey, try this!” he says, handing Luke a large, soft blue and yellow flannel shirt.

“What is it?” Luke asks him, looking incredulously at the shirt, as if it offended him.

“It’s from my hipster years,” Foggy explains, not without a certain pride, because you gotta embrace even your most embarrassing moments, if you want to be truly cool. “I used to have really long hair and a beard, some huge shirts and a bit more attitude back in college.”

“I wish I’d known you then,” Luke says, semi-jokingly, but then he pulls the shirt on and a small miracle happens.

It fits. It fits perfectly, and it looks amazing. The vibrant colors that looked tacky against Foggy’s pale-ass face contrast with Luke’s skin in a really awesome way. He looks like a photo from aesthetics blogs. Foggy stares.

“What?” Luke asks, tugs the sleeves down self-consciously.

“This is awesome, please wear this forever,” Foggy says once he’s picked his jaw from the floor. “It’s yours now. You are a True Soft Lumberjack, if the world’s ever seen one!”

“I’ll try to keep this one intact,” Luke tells him with his steady confidence, and honestly? Foggy is ready to believe anything he says.


	21. Foggy & Malcolm, ghost stories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm and Foggy need to become friends like the adorable cinnamon roll-y sidekicks they are

When Foggy thought that Malcolm was a sweetheart, he was sorely mistaken, because Malcolm is a _menace_ and the actual worst, because he takes a lot of pleasure in torturing Foggy with his horrifying ghost stories and never seems to run out of them.

The creepypastas themselves are pretty, well, creepy; but it’s also the way he’s telling those stories in the semi-darkness, his eyes glinting in the flickering candlelight. His voice goes low and conspiratorial, as if he’s been there and saw it all himself. The whole act spooks Foggy pretty bad.

“And you know what they found in the forest? Skulls of cows nailed to the trees, pretty high above, and underneath those trees there were piles of scraps of fabric and hair. Some of it looked like it was human hair. They never saw anybody over there, but the whole time they had a feeling as if they were being watched.”

Foggy shivers under the quilt he stole from Jessica’s bedroom and whimpers.

“Jess, he’s scaring me,” he complains.

Jessica makes an indifferent noise and ignores him, her face lit blue by the laptop screen. The presence of her, unphased and deep in research, is the only thing that keeps Foggy from hiding under the bed or something. He’s a level-headed guy, and he mostly takes everyday challenges with a brave face, but the occult crap, even the kind that’s not technically scary, freaks him the hell out. 

“Forest is a strange, alien place,” Malcolm says, “weird things happen there.”

“I’m a city boy and I’m afraid of forests,” Foggy pleads. “Even without witches and all that.”

“Don’t worry, they won’t find us here. Probably.”

Foggy whines, and Jessica hands him her bottle of whiskey.

“Don’t be a baby,” she says and looks at Malcolm over her computer. “Hey, don’t spook my lawyer away, he’s the only one who brings me booze.”

Malcolm laughs, gets up from the floor and gives Foggy a hand to lift him to his feet.

“Alright, alright, let’s make some food instead.”


	22. Matt/Foggy, Matt's tummy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for tummy-related prompts!

Foggy has developed a serious obsession with having Matt home, safe, and well fed. Right now it’s somewhere between a fixation and a kink. Foggy has always been the caring type, but Matt just has to turn everything up to 110%.

“Oof,” Matt huffs, falling backwards against the back-rest of the couch, their empty takeout boxes lying artistically in a heap on the table.

“Weak,” Foggy teases him. “Wanna belly rub?”

Matt turns sideways, stretches in Foggy’s lap and tugs the hem of his shirt up.

“Yeah,” he says.

“You just have no shame, do you?” Foggy laughs when Matt moans and arches into his touch.

“Not when you touch me, no,” Matt says.

Foggy rubs his belly, feeling the scars on the smooth skin. That big one under his ribs from the night when Foggy Found Out (capital F, in every way). It was a deep wound, scary. Matt almost ended up gutted. Foggy remembers reading somewhere that strong torso muscles help to protect against internal injuries, and he runs a grateful hand over Matt’s abs. Most of the scars are old; Matt doesn’t get many of them now that he’s wearing armor. He still has bruises, though. The one he can see now, a bit to the left, looks like a shape of a boot, like Matt’s been kicked in the stomach. Foggy squirms a little at the sympathy pain in his own gut.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, resting his hand over the bruise.

“Nah, not really,” Matt says, but when Foggy runs his fingers gently, tracing the shape of it, he wriggles and keens, muscles clenching under Foggy’s hand.

“Shit, sorry!” Foggy says, guilty.

But then he hears that Matt is giggling.

“Nah, it’s okay…” Matt says, a little breathless. “It’s just… ticklish.”

Foggy grins and scratches his side lightly. Matt whines and squirms around, his stomach just kind of flexing involuntarily.

“Foggy…” he bleats, “This is counter-productive.”

“I always wondered why tummies do that,” Foggy muses, ignoring Matt’s (frankly, quite half-hearted) attempts to shake him off.

“Some sort of reflex,” Matt says in between giggles. “You realize I’m gonna do this to you, too, right?”

Foggy can take a little tickling later if it means he gets to play with Matt’s tummy.

“Digest your dinner, first,” he says around a smile, “then we’ll talk.”


	23. Matt/Foggy, Foggy resting his head on Matt's tummy

“That’s so unfair,” Foggy complained for the tenth time. It was probably annoying, but whining made him feel a little better. “I haven’t had a drink for days! Why do I have to get a wicked headache now?”

It did seem unfair. He even ate a healthy breakfast, and felt that he was almost having his life together, and then - bam! - right when he was about to go home and have a pleasant evening, his head decided to rebel. He went home with Matt and let him fuss over him (and not-so-secretly enjoyed it), because Matt was the best person ever to have a headache around. He knew how to be quiet and gentle; and they have always been great at companionable silences anyway.

“Must be the weather,” Matt said. “The pressure is changing.”

Foggy sighed dramatically, rolling around on Matt’s couch, but he couldn’t find a good place to lay his treacherous head. The room got dark, save for an occasional flash of colour from the billboard. Matt moved around the kitchen silently, rearranging something, and it could even look spooky in the eerie purple light, if not for the whole cozy-homey, hoodie-and-fuzzy-socks aesthetic.

“I must be getting old.”

“Sleep, you’ll feel better after the pill works.”

Foggy answered with a sad noise meant to convey the depths of his discomfort. Matt crept closer and touched Foggy’s hair lightly.

“Sit up a moment?”

Foggy moved, and Matt sat next to him, arranged them somehow, so that when Foggy lay back down, he ended up with his cheek on Matt’s stomach. It was really nice, just the right angle to relax his neck; and the tummy in question was pleasantly warm and both kinda soft and firm.

“I knew I made a wise investment when I taught you how to cuddle.”

“I knew how to cuddle!” Matt said indignantly, with a quiet laugh.

“No, you didn’t. This is me, reaping what I have…ah, sown,” Foggy said, suddenly overpowered by a yawn.

Matt ran his fingers through Foggy’s hair, soothing him further, and after an unclear period of time, there was no more pain, just the waves of sleep.


	24. Matt/Foggy, chubby tummy & soft pajamas

The feeling is light and bubbly in Matt’s chest; he doesn’t know what exactly it is, but he likes it. He’s a little drunk, but that’s okay. Foggy is drunk, too, his arm warm over Matt’s shoulders as they finish off the last drops of heavily spiked cocoa in their thermos and make their way back to the dorms, giggling. 

That fizzy feeling has Matt skipping a little, jumping on the spot and turning to Foggy for another hug. He’s found out today that any time he stretches his arms towards Foggy and tries to look expectant, Foggy will give him a long, cozy hug. He’s done it, like, a hundred times already, the part of his mind that usually tells him to knock it off it Stick’s voice is quiet tonight, lulled to sleep.  

“That damn wounded duck face of yours, I swear, Murdock!” Foggy says, but there’s laughter in it; and in a moment Matt is in his arms again.

Back in their room Foggy wails in despair, because they did laundry today and left their beds stripped to deal with later, and it feels even more of a chore right now, when all Matt wants to do is flop somewhere comfy by Foggy’s side. They put the fresh sheets on and fumble about, tripping over each other and laughing. 

They have eaten sandwiches for supper (or, in Matt’s case, just bread and butter with salt, because he _refuses_ to eat this “ham”) and each taken a shower when Matt remembers that he can steal hugs from Foggy now. 

“Aw, hello again,” Foggy says, smiling, when Matt reaches out.

This time, however, Matt’s hands find warm, soft, a little damp, and very much naked skin when he wraps his arms around Foggy. He frowns and feels up to find the hem of Foggy’s shirt significantly higher up his back than he expected.

“This is new,” Matt says, a little distracted, because he has just discovered that his fingers fit very well between the small soft rolls of Foggy’s back.

“Yeah, I finally unpacked my fave pajamas,” Foggy answers easily. “A whole day buttoned into clothes with belts and zippers, and stuff, I mean. At least at night I gotta rest. Need to let my tummy breathe.”

“Uh, what?” Matt asks.

Somehow the idea that the front of Foggy’s pajamas is equally short has escaped him.

“There,” Foggy moves away a little, takes Matt’s hand and places it on his belly. “Feel the spirit of freedom.”

Matt feels, very intensely, first with his fingers, then with his whole palm. Foggy’s belly is rounded in a shape that just fits very pleasantly in an open hand. It is very soft, and Matt presses lightly several times just to wonder at the mesmerizing _give_ of it. He dips his finger into Foggy’s bellybutton and finds that it’s deep and very warm (BODY SHOTS, someone screams into his brain). The shirt ends about an inch above it, and Matt’s just being thorough when he goes a bit under the hem to feel all the way up to Foggy’s ribs. His belly vibrates a little, giving an extra dimension to the portrait of it Matt is building in his mind, as Foggy’s voice echoes in it; and it’s only then Matt realizes he’s being spoken to.

“…buddy? Hey, Matty?” he hears. “You okay?”

“Um,” Matt says, somehow feeling very warm all of a sudden. “Yeah.”

“You look kind of intense.”

“Yeah, I… your stomach is very soft,” he says, like a fool.

Foggy just laughs. It’s not only a nice sound, it is also a pleasant rumbly sensation that Matt feels in his hand. Which is still on Foggy’s belly. 

“Okay,” Foggy says and pulls Matt back into the hug. “Bedtime.”

They end up sharing Matt’s bed (”oh my god, lemme rub my tum all over your silk sheets, this feels amazing”) and wrapped close together. Matt is a little more sober after a while, but he’s still feeling light and  - happy, that seems right, he feels happy. Here with Foggy, pressed up against his soft and comforting body, with his heart beating to close, and it feels like Matt’s soul is also resting in the safe embrace.

His hand finds Foggy’s belly again, even warmer now under the covers. He rubs it, gently, basking in Foggy’s soft sigh of pleasure.

“You’re not cold like that, are you?” Matt asks.

“Nah. I have a really wide standard-length shirt for cold nights. Or I think, maybe some day I’ll ditch the pants altogether. I’ll just sleep in a long nightgown.”

“Don’t forget the stockings,” Matt says.

“What, you wanna see me in stockings?” Foggy asks with a playful laugh.

“Hm. Maybe, feel you in stockings, more realistically?” Matt offers.

Foggy shoves him with his hip a little and then pulls him close. Matt rests his head on Foggy’s shoulder and runs his hand over Foggy’s belly again. It seems to be soothing for them both.

“Alright, I am willing to discuss this later,” Foggy tells him around a yawn. “But right now I wanna sleep, and you should too.”

It doesn’t take long to drift off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope this cheers somebody up today


	25. Matt/Foggy, ugly christmas sweater

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To celebrate this year's 25k words mark!

It is always a little cold at Matt's place in winter; all that volume of air under the roof, the creaky window frames and the door  at the top of the stairs, it's a perfect habitat for drafts. Matt Murdock, of course doesn't have a space heater, because he hates himself and loves to suffer. Foggy, on the other hand, loves himself lots, and he loves Matt, too, so he brought the heater with him when he moved in (sorta, semi-moved in, whatever. It's a work in progress). 

Even with the heater, it's still chilly in the studio room, so he leaves the sweater on. He got it for Matt, because perfect, but he couldn't help but try it on. There is also the issue of Matt and his love for stealing Foggy's clothes. He likes the smell, or something; it's a bit weird to think about, but it's not like Foggy doesn't understand, he loves wearing Matt's scarves and hats on occasion, snuggling Matt's pillow at night while he's out kicking asses. So, no sin rocking the sweater for a little longer. It's a tight fit on him, but the yarn is soft and nice to touch. A perfect sweater for Matt!

The man in question arrives about an hour later, when Foggy has finished cooking and settled on the sofa. Matt comes in, grinning, with a red nose and steamed glasses, and Foggy's heart does a jumpy, squeezy thing in his chest at the sight. Good thing they are dating now and he's allowed to have palpitations over Matt all he wants.

"What's cooking?" Matt asks.

"I made soup. And I got you a sweater. You gotta run your feelers over it, it's awesome."

Sometimes Matt takes things a little too literally, it's a thing he does. He walks over and joins Foggy on the couch, still in his coat and scarf, reaches out to place his hands gently on Foggy's chest. It seems that he's interpreted Foggy'swords as "come and grope me now". 

His face is now close to Foggy's, a small frowny smile as he inspects the sweater.

"What is it?", he asks, feeling along the thick embroidery and large beads of the ornament.

"It's some sort of fighting tournament between Santa Claus and Krampus. They are on a ring, Santa is in red and Krampus is in black, I can't tell if they are boxing with this stitch, but it's pretty epic."

"Oh, is it?"

Matt's hands roam lower, over Foggy's belly, snug in the sweater, around his sides, pulling Foggy closer to himself.

"Yes, want me to give it to you?"

"Mmmm. In a bit?"

Matt leans in and wraps Foggy in a hug, resting his face against his neck, nuzzling the soft yarn. Foggy hugs him back and kisses his cold cheek.

"I like it where it is for now."


End file.
